


let me nourish my starving, luckless love

by smallredboy



Series: protect me from what i want [4]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Hallucinations, M/M, Pining, Post-Episode: s02e13 Mizumono, Stabbing, Trans Will Graham, Will Graham is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:56:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23006095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallredboy/pseuds/smallredboy
Summary: Will and Jack talk while Will's at the hospital.
Relationships: Jack Crawford & Will Graham, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: protect me from what i want [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615912
Comments: 4
Kudos: 91
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	let me nourish my starving, luckless love

**Author's Note:**

> **trans bingo:** tired  
>  **bad things happen bingo:** bleeding through the bandages  
>  **gen prompt bingo:** Someone / Something is Hidden / Camouflaged
> 
> another part of my trans!will series, which is turning to be just like, really hannigram. didn't plan to have that happen, oops.
> 
> enjoy!

Will gasps as blood coats his bandages, eyes wide as he looks up, startled. He feels no pain, but Hannibal is there, digging that knife into him once again.

"Hannibal," he breathes, barely able to move away from his position in his hospital bed. "Hannibal, please, I'm sorry, I just didn't— I had to—"

Hannibal's eyes glint. "Do you understand?" he asks. "Will you forgive me?"

"Yes," he breathes out. He knows it's irrational. He knows he shouldn't forgive Hannibal for — for killing Abigail. For killing _their daughter._ But again all rationale and all morality, he knows he will search for him as long as he is able to. "Yes. Always."

"Will."

He looks back and sees Jack, a worried look on his face. He looks down; there's still droplets of blood soaking through his bandages. He rubs his eyes and they're gone. He turns to face him once again.

"Jack. Sorry."

"Are you having hallucinations again, Will?"

"No," he shakes his head. "I was dreaming."

"With your eyes open," Jack says sarcastically.

"Yeah," he drawls out, closing his eyes as he relaxes back on the couch. A hand covers his bandages on instinct— he can't shake off the wet sensation of blood slipping past his fingers, as much as he knows there's nothing there. He draws in a breath. "I don't plan to go back to the field anyway, Jack. It doesn't matter to you if I'm hallucinating or not."

"I care about you, Will," Jack argues. 

"I'll get a normal psychiatrist who will prescribe me antipsychotics, then," he deadpans, rubbing his forehead with the pads of his fingers. "I'll make sure they're not a cannibalistic serial killer."

Even Jack must know he's joking around. He doesn't plan to get a new psychiatrist. Hannibal is the only person that's managed to make a place for himself inside his brain, and that was after setting it on fire and scrambling it a little. He's not going to get medication, he's not going to talk about his issues to a normal, uninteresting person who will diagnose him with a thousand disorders for the Hell of it. No, the only psychiatric care he can stand (and that's barely so) is Hannibal's.

He doesn't want help. He needs it, maybe, but he doesn't want it. He's going to exile himself as soon as he's able to, preparing himself for the trek to find Hannibal. He already knows where he is, but he'll be damned before he tells anyone. He knows he's in Palermo, perhaps ready to leave something behind at that church he mentioned to him before their fateful dinner.

"Who administered my T while I was out?" he asks, wanting to get away from the topic of Hannibal Lecter. He knows he'll never stop thinking about him, but he doesn't want to talk about him with anyone else. He's his and his only. He's a jealous thing, he knows, desperate to have the Ripper all to himself.

"Alana did your shots," Jack informs him.

It's been a while since he got outed to the whole world, but he's learned to cope with it. People don't say too many things about it to him anymore. Jack had offered him his surprise, but apart from that he hadn't said much on the matter. Alana was still fumbling with attempting to be as supportive as she could be, which is probably why she gave him his shots. Price had asked him a little bit too much for his tastes, but he had promptly told him to fuck off. 

"Ah," he nods. "Give her my thanks when you see her. I'm sure she doesn't come by often."

He shrugs. "She's been busy with physical therapy."

He got stabbed, Alana got pushed off a window, Jack got a glass shard on his throat. There's still a fine scar across his throat, right where he got it slashed. They've all come with their scars, and they all hate Hannibal. At least, they're all supposed to.

He sighs and reaches over for some water. "Thank you for visiting me."

Jack shrugs again. "It's no problem, Will. Tell me if you need anything."

He won't, but he appreciates the notion.


End file.
